


Dancing in the Moonlight

by orphan_account



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kev witnesses Terry Milkovich in the rarest of forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing in the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [losingurshit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingurshit/gifts).



> Why are you reading this? I'm not sure. I'm sorry in advance. 
> 
> If you care enough to actually want a context for this story, let's say it's set in the nearish future. Terry was released from prison not too long ago and moved out of his house when he realized that the gays had taken it over.

Kev poured another drink, a bit of the liquid sploshing over the sides and onto the counter, and V’s voice immediately screeched into his mind. _“I’m sorry, did the counter pay you for that entire fucking half-shot you just spilled?”_ He slid the glass to the man before him, the always wonderful Terry Milkovich (who Kev desperately just wanted out of his fucking bar but he couldn’t turn away paying customers for just existing), but Terry slid the glass to his left.

“Nope, this one’s for this guy," Terry slurred. "Lemme buy ya a drink, Frank.” Kev raised his eyebrows in surprise. If there was two guys in the world who weren’t willing to share their liquor, it was Terry Milkovich and Frank Gallagher.

Things had seemed a little weird between the two all night, but Kev had brushed it off as his imagination running wild after getting a total of forty-five minutes of sleep last night. There was no way Terry had actually intentionally bumped Frank’s shoulder when he asked him “what are you up to tonight?” He probably hadn’t even actually said it like that. Kev’s mind was fucking with him.

And Terry definitely hadn’t casually sniffed his armpit when Frank was looking the other way. Even if he did, it definitely wasn’t because he was worried about how Frank thought he smelled. Terry Milkovich would put someone in a coma for so much as suggesting he put on deodorant.

 Frank took the drink without protest. “Why thank you, Terry. See? There are still good people in this world. You know, people used to go into bars and buy each other drinks like it was nothing, because that’s what good people do. Today people are so goddamn tight with their money. Blame it on the economy if you want, but I blame it on the human race. Turning cold-hearted. Being too goddamn selfish to buy a friend a drink. That’s what the world is coming to. Maybe you don’t think it’s a big deal, but you just wait. Twenty years down the line, people aren’t even going to be speaking to each other any more. You’ll walk into bars and have a one stool buffer rule, and no one will even fucking communicate. Nod your head for beer, raise your hand for a fucking shot of vodka.”

 Terry nodded right along with him and Kev doubted he even knew what Frank had said. There was something about the look in Terry’s eye… if Kev were crazy he would say he looked like a lovestruck teenager, but he was too sane to actually think that.

 “What the hell are you even talking about, Frank? You just mad that people aren’t willing to pay for your habit?” Kev said, smiling and shaking his head at Frank’s nonsense.

 Terry scowled. “Hey, you respect your fucking elders, kid.”

 “And you respect the fucking bar owner,” Kev replied. “Shouldn’t you not even be in here, Terry? After what happened the last time?”

Terry clamped up at the mention of last time; whether it was due to embarrassment at the way he had acted or at the reminder of his son’s big confession, Kev wasn’t sure. Most likely the latter, but Kev was trying to give people the benefit of the doubt these days. Ghandi, or whatever.

 Frank waved his hand at him. “That’s fine, Kevin. You don’t need to believe me. You’ll see it eventually. Bars are going to go out of business because people are going to be afraid of human interaction. People will never leave their fucking homes. Mark my words. Biggest paying jobs are gonna be delivery men. Everything will be brought straight to your door, ordered online, without a word being spoken. Verbal communication will die off completely, and that will be the beginning of the end of the human race. Evolution, my friends.”

 Kev rolled his eyes and nodded, and was about to walk away from the two idiots in front of him when something un-fucking-believable happened.

 “Course, I’ll drink myself dead by then, happily buried beneath the earth, so what the fuck do I care?” Frank raised his glass towards the ceiling before downing it in one gulp. And Terry, Terry fucking Milkovich, threw his head back and put his hand on top of Frank’s. He let out a deafeningly loud belly laugh that certainly didn’t match up with the dainty touch he was currently placing on Frank’s hand.

 Kev did a double-take, a triple-take, wiped his eyes like they do in cartoons to make sure his his vision wasn’t playing tricks on him. Terry pulled his hand away as his laughter ceased, but Kev was sure, fucking positive, it had happened.

 He turned his back to them and pretended to be messing with some glasses as he forced the shock to leave his face. Terry Milkovich was hitting on Frank Gallagher. A man. What the fuck was happening? Terry Milkovich, homophobe-extraordinaire, was flirting with a guy. Putting the moves on a dude. Trying to get the dick. Nothing made sense.

 Terry was absolutely shitfaced, that was for sure. Probably one drink away from passing out on the floor and never getting up. And he had just gotten out of prison not too long ago, so he was probably horny as hell. But there was a middle aged woman with saggy tits and a moustache sitting at the other end of the bar; surely Terry would rather fuck her than Frank, right?

 Kev’s (super fucking weird) thoughts were interrupted by Frank yelling again. “Oh, great song, great fucking song. Bartender, turn it up, would ya? Teach these people what real music sounds like.”

 Kev, for whatever reason, obeyed Frank’s command and turned up the volume. _Dancing in the Moonlight_ came blaring through the speakers, and Terry chuckled.

 “This song. I remember this song. Danced to it at my high school prom.”

 Kev furrowed his brow as he dried a glass. “You graduated high school?”

 “Who the fuck said anything about graduating?” Terry barked, like it was the stupidest question in the world. He was clearly annoyed by Kev’s presence, angry that he was interloping on his bonding with Frank.

 Kev was about to reply with a sarcastic comment, finding entertainment in picking arguments with drunk assholes, but before he could think of a good comeback Frank had gotten out of his seat and was dancing in the middle of the bar. Kev looked from Frank to Terry, who was watching Frank with slack-jawed attentiveness. Terry licked his lips and Kev wanted to throw up but he couldn’t look away; it was like a fucking car accident. He saw the gears turning in Terry’s head, saw him debate whether he should stay and watch or-

 He made his decision. Terry walked (well, stumbled and barely fucking made it there) to the middle of the bar where Frank was busting a move. Terry moved his hips from side to side, which was probably the most dancing he could manage without falling over. It was the strangest fucking sight Kev had ever laid eyes on.

 Kev’s attention was drawn away from the spectacle in front of him when the door opened. Mickey walked in and Ian followed behind him, their hands linked, but as soon as Mickey laid eyes on his father his face fell and he jerked his hand away quickly.

 "Fuck. We should go,” he said to Ian, and Kev hurried over to stop them.

 "Hey, no worries. Your dad is fucking wasted and I got enough dirt on him in the last hour to last you a lifetime.”

 “The fuck you talkin’ about?” Mickey asked, not believing for a second that his dad would waste an opportunity to give him and his boyfriend a beat down.

 “Let’s just say I need to bleach my brain,” Kev reassured him. “C’mon, come have a drink. Trust me.”

 Kev turned to look at Terry and Frank again, and his gaze fell on the crotch of Terry’s too tight jeans. “Oh, and to make things better he’s sporting a full chub now. That’s great.”

 Mickey and Ian were visibly confused, but they cautiously followed Kev to the bar and let him pour them some drinks. He watched as they gradually relaxed, their shoulders falling and smiles creeping back onto their faces as they realized that Terry wasn’t going to beat them to death tonight.

If anything good came out of this nightmare, it was sweet, sweet blackmail. Because Kev could promise you that he would never, ever, ever forget the night that Terry Milkovich got hard for Frank Gallagher.

**Author's Note:**

> Was it everything you've ever wanted in a fic? Let me know at backstreet-gurl.tumblr.com


End file.
